Page 22 of Hunting Harbor

She pauses, leaning against her front door. Perfect hesitation. She is fragile and ferocious all at once, a creature on the edge of instinct and fear, exactly as I want her to be. My fist is in my mouth to keep from shouting with satisfaction.

Opportunity is what I’ve been waiting for. Timing is a weapon I’ve spent my life perfecting. I know precisely how long I have, and I intend to use every second. Now that she’s realized her place isn’t safe, it’s time for me to invite her into my world. More accurately, Noah’s world, but I’d give up city life if it meantspending an eternity hunting her down and fucking her like she’ll break apart moaning my name.

My real name.

I check my appearance in the mirror, cataloging details like an inventory list.

Shirt: dark, collared, appropriate for a date, ‘casual-cool’.

Jeans: casual black, just enough distress to look authentic.

Shoes: boots, because I know what she likes.

Jacket: leather, soft and worn and enticing.

Watch: expensive, but not obvious.

Her.

I know what she likes because I am the one who teaches her to like it.

There is a hunger in my eyes that I don’t bother hiding as I give myself the once over. A lightness to my step as I lock the door and head out to claim her.

I take my bike because it’s faster and I don’t want to wait any longer.

Neon paints her like she belongs to it. Red. Blue. Dark hair with red tint, restless eyes, but mine all the same. I wait until she sits alone at the corner table, then push through the door with careful timing. If I did this any more perfectly, the universe would implode.

She sees me, smiles with those wicked lips, the ones that I want wrapped around my cock. My steps are slow as I approach her table. Her surprise is feigned, like mine. "You seem to always know where I am," she says, laugh nervous and wanting. Two whiskeys. One chance. I am a goddamn genius.

Her fingers drum the table, a sound so fragile and rhythmic it makes my chest hurt. I love that she’s trying to be brave. Her eyes dart to the exit, but she doesn’t leave. Maybe she’s more aware of what she wants than I think

“What are the odds?” I say, settling in next to her.

A cornered mouse would look like this, if the rodent was also an angel. “I, uh, didn’t know you came here often,” she says, letting me take her glass.

She plays with her hair, twisting it around her finger, her lip sucked into her mouth as I stay silent, just smiling. Watching her, watching me. It unsettles her and I love it.

The whiskeys arrive, and finally she decides to try again. “So… are you stalking me or something?”

I reach for her drink and press it into her hand, closing her fingers around the glass with deliberate slowness. “Does it matter?”

It does and it doesn’t, and we both know why. She’s still feeling that thrill dance up her spine at how close I am to her. How I make her feel.

She bites her lip. The hesitation is a script she has to follow before she can do what she really wants. “I guess it doesn’t,” she says.

I clink my glass to hers. “To coincidences.”

The silence returns, heavier and closer now, and I can almost hear her thinking. Almost hear her surrender, but then she drains her drink and so do I. I tap the table as the waitress walks by and she nods. I’ll keep them coming all night, get her relaxed enough to agree to the next part of my plan.

“I’m so close to finishing,” she blurts, red rising on her neck. “The new book, I mean. The one I told you about last time.”

Her hand flies to her mouth, and I fight the urge to grab it. This is too fucking easy. She wants to tell me everything, but she’s fighting the urge to open up, but I want her to do it on her own. Unassisted by me. I want her to want this, to want me, toneedme. I wait, patient as the devil.

“You must think I’m crazy.” The words tumble out like she’s bleeding them. “But ever since we met, it’s been... You’re not like anyone I know.”

I lean in, close enough to breathe her in. “Maybe I should be insulted.”

She shakes her head, urgent and shy all at once. I’d tear the world apart to keep her that way forever. “No, I mean, it’s good. It’s like I don’t know if you’re real. Maybe you’re just the guy in my book and I’m hallucinating this entire conversation.” A giggle escapes her, alongside a hiccup. Her haste to grab the whiskey as it’s delivered almost knocks it over, but she rights it.

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